Shitholes

For the last year, I have been shaking my head.  #45 opens his mouth, blasts a tweet, and continues to display rash, impulsive, racist, sexist, narcissistic behavior and I shake my head in disbelief.  Am I in a horrible dream?  Is this man really our president?  Is there still an enthusiastic following that justifies and excuses his behavior because he will bring socially conservative Supreme Court judges and tax breaks?  My heart breaks.  My soul aches.  Yes, this is the country I live in.  Yes, world, this is the one chosen by the electoral college to represent who we are.  I am embarrassed.  I can no longer sit back and shake my head.  I am looking for a new verb of social action to define my response to this nightmare.

We as a nation are sitting upon a wealth of potential to end poverty and economic disparity, but we are choosing to blame the poor, the broken, the impoverished for our economic woes.  Germany blamed the Jews, the Poles, and anyone not Aryan.  We cut funding and assistance for education, childcare, healthcare – those fundamental needs that will help end the cycles of poverty in exchange for more corporate welfare and larger CEO bonuses.  The rich continue to get richer.  The privileged continue to gain more opportunity.  Meanwhile, those in the trenches continue to bear the weight of the greed.  

We justify our choices.  Excuse our leader’s narcissism and pursue the almighty dollar.  And those not fortunate like us?  They live in shitholes.

Our country values greed and power.  We elected #45 because he represented this duo and promised the country greatness.  Greatness as defined by more economic growth and power.  I see greatness as being stewards of our resources by helping those stuck in the cycle of poverty.  We are stewards of greatness when we invest in education, healthcare, mental health.  Greatness is servant leadership.  Greatness is empathy towards my fellow human sojourners no matter what shithole they come from.  To whom much was given, much is expected.  I am humble enough to know I sit where I am because I happened to be born into a white, American family with educated parents who worked hard to provide me with education and opportunity.  I did not choose my family.  I just as easily could have been born into a shithole of a low, Indian caste system and sold into sex slavery so my brother could be educated and possibly save my entire family.  There is no room for humility where greed and power reign.

Those working the front lines trying to heal the brokenness – teachers, social workers, mental health professionals, public servants work for fractions less than those in the corporate world.  When I did contract work the Department of Child Services, I LOVED my job.  I helped foster children find their forever homes.  I helped foster and adoptive parents understand the unique needs of their newest family member.  I watched abused, distrusting children find hope, healing, and love.  It was difficult work.  But I had to quit this job because it cost me almost as much in childcare than the wages I earned (and I had free childcare half of the time.)  I had a Master’s degree and a professional license to maintain.  I carried a phone to be on call for families 24-7, risked my safety driving into unsafe neighborhoods, and bore secondary trauma of hearing horrific tales of abuse.  All that for $12/hour with no paid time off, retirement plan, or benefits.  We put our money where are values are.  My job was not valued.  Healing the broken is not valued.

I recently took care of a trauma patient.  At first glance, he was a shit from a shithole.  He had a prison record.  He will likely have no insurance.  Those of us who pay taxes will pay for this very expensive trauma intervention.  The hospital will eat a large portion of his medical bills.  And then he started sharing about his life.  Childhood abuse.  Foster care.  He was part of the forgotten from the American shitholes.  He is who we point the finger at and blame as to why our society is so terrible.  OR we do not and we point the finger at ourselves.  We failed him, and probably his parents who likely endured child abuse themselves.  We failed at intervening.  We failed at providing him the resources, education, mental health therapies needed for him to rise above the hell he was living.  We failed him.  Then we blamed him.  Healing the broken is not valued.

As I was ranting to my husband about the latest narcissistic outburst of #45, he gently reminded me he is a reflection of our societies values.  We want quick fixes and the illusion that all is wonderful.  And to hold up this illusion, we need a common enemy to unite us.  We scapegoat the poor.  Call them shitholes.  

I rolled my eyes when I first heard Oprah was considering a run for office.  This is not an endorsement, but perhaps we need an Oprah to help us heal as a society.  Someone who gets empathy, understands struggle, and does not ignore those who come from shitholes.  As I look for my own new verb to replace my silent head shaking, healing comes to the forefront.  I am called to help heal this broken mess.  I would like to run from it – move to Finland, Tahiti, or my own private island, but this is not where I am called to be. 

“You have been told, O mortal, what is good,

and what the LORD requires of you:
Only to do justice and to love goodness,
and to walk humbly with your God.”  Micah 6:8